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Believe You Can Fly

The air whipped his straggly hair away from his face, and the cool breeze felt so great on his skin. He licked his lips because they felt so dry from the chilly breeze smacking them this high above the earth. The ground sunk away below him, and everyone standing down there became smaller as he rose higher. The feeling of not having to touch anything was wonderful, and floating above the masses made his heart soar. He laughed giddily as he realized he was unsure of what to do now that he was up in the air.

Should he go forward? Could he do a summersault? He focused on flipping himself upside down to do a summersault, and the world spun around him. He giggled hysterically when he found himself upright again and still floating, surprisingly safely, in the air.

He was flying! He was really flying! With a whoop of joy he charged forward into the waiting blue of the sky. Stretching on endlessly with the puffy, cotton ball clouds, the sky offered him freedom.

However, he bolted upright, and smacked his head against the ceiling of the room under the stairs.

Name: crazy_purple_hp_freakHouse:SlytherinTitle: A Spotlight Shines on the StageWarnings: NoneWords: 495

Bright yellow streetlamps glow in the street. It is dark beyond them. It is night. And the lamps shine down like spotlights.

When I was little, I used to dream that I was famous – a star. I’d dream that I was beautiful, that people cared about me, that somewhere, someone actually loved me. I’d dream that my home was a palace, and the dusty cobwebs were chandeliers that glistened with every thread of light, the cold stone walls were covered with expensive wallpaper, the soiled floor lined with marble. I’d dream that one day, my handsome prince would come in his elegant carriage and take me away. I’d dream that we’d be married, have adorable children; the home that I hated and the family that hated me would be long forgotten, no longer tarnishing my perfect life.

It was like a fairytale. A blissful story where I could finally take centre stage.

But that was an impossible world. They said.A Muggle world. Father told me.

And Father hated Muggles.

The lamps dim slightly to glow orange – a dimmer light at the side of the stage.

I used to play that fantasy over and over in my head – from beginning to end, the dream never changing. It lessened the pain slightly, made it a bit easier to breathe…sometimes.

Whenever Father and Brother talked about their blood purity, our heritage, I’d slip away in my mind, and dream of a world where blood wasn’t important, where you could live anywhere, reach anywhere – reach the heights, regardless of where you were born.

A car rushes past, splashing the pavement in a puddle of grey water. Slowly, the grit sinks to the bottom of the pool, leaving the water crystal clear. Yet tainted.

There were times when I thought that my dream had come true, that everything had changed. Maybe Tom really did love me. Maybe I had suffered enough, and somewhere, somebody had taken pity on me and given me what I had always wanted and dreamed of.

I was so naïve, so foolish to believe in such things. It was never meant to be, I should have known. I should have guessed that nothing good would ever last.

The rain starts to fall, splashing into the puddles in fat droplets. My tears fall with them. What am I going to do?

I am cold, frightened, alone again save for the child I know is inside me. Perhaps one day his dreams will come true, and he’ll be happy, feel loved. Perhaps all my dreams will be born in him, and they will be fulfilled…

I hope so, though I may not be there to see it, or be there with him to experience it. I hope with all my heart that my final dream will come true.

She steps away and the rain follows her down the dreary street. The spotlight lies behind her and she has exited the stage.

Arabella Figg watched sadly as the tiny black-haired boy walked quietly into her living room and sat down. The Dursleys had gone out on another fun ‘family’ outing, and had once again left the boy with her, the boy that they had never thought of as ‘family’.

“Would you like to watch television?” she asked kindly.

“No.” The boy’s head seemed to droop with sadness. The miserable life that he led was all that he had ever known, and yet for some reason, Dumbledore would not consent to him being moved elsewhere. Plenty of wizarding families would have taken him in, but Dumbledore would not think of it.

“Would you like anything to eat, dear? Anything to drink?”

“No thank you.” The boy was ever so polite, ever so quiet.

Arabella shooed her cats back into the kitchen. “How about I get some paper and pens for you? Would you like to draw a picture or write a story?”

Slowly, the boy gave a tiny nod, and sat up straighter at the table as Arabella brought some pencils and a pad of paper. “Thank you.”

~*~*~

Later that evening, when the boy had gone, Arabella glanced at the table. The pad of paper was still there, and on the top sheet, lay the boy’s finished work.

My Dream

Last night, I dreamt that I was flying. I was riding a motorcycle driven by a really big, tall man, and we were flying really high. It was night-time and I could see the stars really clear and bright in the sky. And I dreamt that I could see my Mum and Dad up there too, somewhere, watching me.

I’d like to think that that was true. I’d like for my parents to be able to see me now, and I think they’d like that too. I’d like for them to see me at school, see how I’m doing now and then.

Sometimes I think they’d be proud of me, even though I haven’t really done anything special, I hope that they’d be proud of me anyway. That’s what parents should do. But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never say that they’re proud of me like they say to Dudley. Miss Applewood at school says that some relatives express their love in a different way, but I don’t think that’s true. Maybe my Mum used to love me…but she’s gone now, and so has Dad.

When I was really little, I used to dream that they weren’t dead, or that one day, someone else would come and take me away from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. I keep having that flying dream and I dream that maybe, one day, that man on the motorcycle will come and collect me, and we can fly away forever. That would be nice.

Maybe one day, everything’ll change.

~*~*~

Arabella sighed, and resolved to speak to Dumbledore right away. This time she would argue her case.

A warm wind blew past his face as if it was late for something. Following its lead, he turned to where the wind rushed, and squinted as a wave of heat licked his face. The sky above him was an endless curtain blazing with blood-red flames. And before his eyes, the Hogwarts Castle was on fire.

A silent cry tore his throat, and he broke into a mad rush. Before he knew, he was running up the marble stairs, his heart beating like a drum. Hundreds of students were pouring out of the castle, away from the flames. The Entrance Hall was a mass of fire. The sickening cracks of the collapsing walls filled his ears. A hand harshly grasped his arm, abruptly stopping his run. It was Snape. The look on his face was too cold to be real in the heat of the fire. He shook his head. No words were heard, but he knew what Snape was saying.

It was the end.

He had lost.

He wrenched his arm free, and lunged forward, as if there was no disruption. He threw himself into the flames, his mind blank, his wand useless in his grip. All he knew was that Hogwarts was falling.

He ran, bumping into people, sweat running down his back. He looked around frantically, but all he could see was the fire. Nothing could cool the enormous flames off, he just knew. Despair, heavy like lead, sank in his heart. Sinking to his knees, he didn’t fight the tears that welled up in his eyes. Was this how it would end?

He straightened a little when he realised that he could breathe somewhat easier. Was the heat a little less? he wondered. He looked around with a confused frown: the scarlet curtain around him was slowly opening, he noticed, and the flames were taking shapes. He blinked. The flames were so scarce now that he realised he was in Dumbledore’s office. The cracking of the fire turned into the sound of clapping wings. The last blazes of fire disappeared, and he saw hundreds of Phoenixes filling the circular office. He watched in awe as the birds softly perched on the tables and chairs. A peaceful silence settled in the air.

And then, he saw Dumbledore. He was standing beside his desk, with Fawkes on his shoulder.

The soft melody of a thousand Phoenixes’ song filled the air. He closed his eyes and breathed the fresh smell of earth after a spring rain. Tears once again filled his eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy.

Dumbledore slowly turned to him. His eyes were twinkling like snowflakes.

Harry smiled.

He hadn’t lost.

* * * *

After all these years, the dream was still vivid. The same feeling of safety filled his heart as he thought of the Phoenixes’ song. A smile curled his lips, and he calmly raised his wand for his last duel with Voldemort.

He dreamed of planets made of puddings, lands of lollipops and enormous mountains of ice-cream.

The little six-year-old boy lay on his bed, craving something sweet to eat.

In this confectionary dream world, he was allowed to have as much as everyone else. He could eat ice-cream until his belly wanted to explode!

In his dream world, he didn’t have to watch Dudley, his cousin, make his way through four bowls of ice-cream, while not allowed to have any himself. He had just managed to grab a lick of Dudley’s spoon before his Aunt Petunia had caught him.

In his dreams when it rained, chocolate fell from the sky. He tried to catch some…

But he woke up in reality again, still locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He rubbed at his dirty glasses, hoping that the dingy space he was trapped in was just an optical illusion. But it wasn’t.

He chewed his way through a few trees, made of lollies he was unable to name. When people saw him, they smiled at him, and waved as he went on his way. To the people here, he was Harry, not ‘boy’ or ‘freak’.

He heard Dudley screaming downstairs that they were out of ice-cream.

Here, things were perfect. They never ran out of anything. But the best thing of all was that there were no Dursleys there, and for good measure- if Dudley were allowed there, they might actually run out of the sweets.

The door scraped open, awakening Harry from his fantasies. A bowl was pushed through the door, then it banged shut again. In the bowl was a lump of cheese. He screwed up his eyes…

And it was no longer a lump of cheese in his bowl, but an enormous block of chocolate, enough to share with everyone. He had friends here. Friends who liked him.

He would never tell the Dursleys about his fantasy land, they would think he was freakish or…what was that word…abnormal.

Here, things were very abnormal. People turned into dogs in the blink of an eye, and motorcycles flew. There were blinding flashes of green light, and that signaled the end of his dreaming sessions, most nights.

For he did this every night, for it was the best way to cope. He would live in this fantasy land as soon as he got away from the Dursleys.

Harry rubbed his eyes. He was no longer in the cupboard under the stairs, but in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. He was not six, but nearly eighteen. Had…it all been a dream? He hadn’t thought of his land of sweets since he had started at Hogwarts.

He sneaked an arm out from under the covers to look for his glasses, and perched them on his nose.

Ginny was standing at the end of his bed, holding a bowl of what seemed to be an enormous mountain of ice-cream.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.” (SS p.214)

Albus Dumbledore watched Harry leave the unused classroom and sighed. The boy had been through so much in his young life, and now that he had discovered his family he was going to lose them again. The Mirror would be moved the following day, to better protect the Stone. Albus stepped up to the smooth glass and stared into its depths. . .

He saw a young boy with messy black hair and glasses, surrounded by a family that loved and cared for him. He watched as a beautiful young woman with emerald green eyes laughed with joy as the boy hugged her fiercely. A tall young man with matching dark hair and glasses gazed with pride at his wife and young son, then took them both in his arms and spun them around. It was a family that was complete, and not ripped apart by betrayal and murder.

The scene shifted and the young boy grew into an adult, strong and confident. He grew into a family of his own, with a wife and children and a home that was full of love and laughter. The red-haired woman and the dark-haired man played with grandchildren by the fire, their hair touched with grey, their eyes still full of loving affection for their growing family.

The scene shifted once more and the young boy became a grey-haired grandfather himself, as he sat in a yard full of flowers watching his family run and play. He smiled and laughed as a small boy with matching green eyes climbed into his lap and begged for a story. Soon he was surrounded by his loved ones, and began to tell his tale. . .

Albus passed a hand over his eyes and sighed. At that moment he wished more than anything for Harry to have the family he desperately desired. His heart broke for the pain and loss he knew Harry must feel each and every day, particularly as he rejoined the magical world and learned more about his past and the family he never knew.

A grim future awaited Harry, a destiny foretold long ago. Albus thought once more of the prophecy that guided Harry’s fate, and wondered when to tell him about its dark words. Yet Harry was only eleven, much too young for such a burden; Albus would let him enjoy what little innocence he had left before facing the terrible future that awaited him. It was still a long way away, after all; the boy could live in peace for a while longer.

Albus opened his eyes and gazed into the Mirror of Erised once more. He saw himself this time, wearing a new pair of thick, woolen socks. Next to him stood a young man with a lightning-shaped scar, battered and broken by fate, but triumphant nevertheless. Albus smiled sadly; he turned to leave his dreams behind, and left to live instead.

Oh my goodness, my title changed to "I See Dead People ...In Mirrors" with this post - how strange is that?? *cue spooky music*

Lily awoke with a jolt, her vivid green eyes filled with tears and her breathing ragged. Looking around the room, she calmed. She was home, she was safe. Her husband, James, lay next to her sleeping peacefully as if nothing in the world could harm them. Carefully, Lily lowered her legs from the bed, one hand on her stomach holding the bump that would soon give way to her child. Walking slowly to the kitchen she poured herself a glass of water and sat at the table. She had been dreaming of her baby’s first birthday. They had held a party, with Sirius and Remus and all of their friends, but then a green flash of light appeared and the world was plunged into darkness. She could still hear the screams echoing through her mind; mothers calling for their lost children, babies crying and men shouting.

The darkness cleared and the world was grey, broken and cold. Stonework lay smashed on the floor with men trying to rescue children from beneath; dust covered everything changing the shape of her comfortable home. Lily stared, her eyes bulging, as she realised her husband and baby were not by her side. She screamed and tore through the wreckage, searching, before falling to the ground in shock. They were gone, everything was gone.

Lily felt a kick under her hand and quickly came back to the present. Wiping a tear from her face she smiled.

Only a dream, she thought. You are my son and I will never lose you, Harry James Potter.

Ron stared at the roll of parchment and scratched his head with the end of his quill. He didn’t notice the black ink that had dripped on his ear and down his neck. His face and shoulders were knotted from the effort of concentrating. All that work and all he’d managed to write was:

My Dream Diary
by Roonil Wazlib

“Bloody stupid quill! I’m going to kill Fred and George!” Ron tossed the quill on the table and shoved the parchment onto the floor. He stretched out on the couch in front of the fire. It wasn’t long before his breathing slowed and his eyes closed.

Ron quickly found himself soaring above the Quidditch pitch, dressed in the violent orange robes of the Chudley Cannons. Without warning, a bludger came whistling through the air aimed directly at his head. Hagrid reached up slowly, grabbed the ball and crushed it into dust as though it were nothing more than a clod of dirt.

To Ron’s surprise, Hagrid threw the dust at him and the broom he had been riding became a dragon. His Quidditch robes became a dowdy green dress with mouldy lace at the collar, wrists and ankles. A straw hat with a large stuffed vulture was now perched on his head. Snape appeared in front of Ron, wearing a nearly identical dress (Snape’s dress was red) and hat and riding atop the shoulders of a club-wielding mountain troll.

“Mister Weasley, you will return that dragon to Mister Longbottom immediately or you will be serving detention for the rest of the term with Miss Lovegood,” Snape shouted over the troll’s grunts/ He threw a handful of dust at Ron, thumped the troll on the head and burst into a gleeful song. Ron heard Snape’s voice singing “Hoggy Warty Hogwarts-” to the rhythm of the troll’s lumbering steps.

Ron closed his eyes and mumbled several colourful words. He felt a sharp knock on his head and swore again. He reluctantly opened his eyes only to discover he was now standing in the Great Hall, dressed only in a pair of shorts that looked as though they had been knotted by Dobby the house elf. Tiny golden snitches zoomed around the fabric at Ron’s waist.

“Ronald Weasley, you are late! How can you expect us to be married if you do not show up for the wedding!” Pansy Parkinson shouted at him, her eyes blazing.

Ron folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes again and felt the heat climb to the tips of his ears. He tried to stammer a reply, but couldn’t spit out a single word. Shouts filled his ears and hands grabbed at his shoulders.

He opened one eye cautiously. A familiar bushy-haired face was only inches away from his.

Severus Snape’s conflicting thoughts swirled in his head, until he finally fell in a light, fitful slumber.

Memories flashed by him like an ancient picture show. The black and white scenes formed an immense collage across his mind. Discussions with Dumbledore and pleading with Voldemort, working with the Order, sneering at Potter, being humiliated by James and his friends, scribbling in his potion’s book, his Unbreakable Vow...

An uncharacteristic tear filled his normally indifferent eyes.

Then the memories split. His very life separated into an enormous pro/con list. Figures of all the people his ever looming decision would effect surrounded him, all adding their own reasoning to the vast list. Snape fell to his knees, he simply didn’t know what else to do. The pressure was so much…

Severus Snape shot up, completely alert, in his bed. He knew what he had to do. Flinging the covers off his shaking, sweat-covered legs, Snape preceded to the headmaster’s office. He had a plan to formulate, a murder to stage, his butt to save, and a world to deceit. The double agent finally pushed himself off the side of the fence he’d straddled so long.

I wrung my sweaty hands together nervously and tried to concentrate on something else—anything—the plush blue rug beneath my feet, the vibrant emerald green quill perched upon the desk, that hideous portrait of the man in the scarlet robes (really, they did nothing for his figure). It’s only a job right? I thought. Only my childhood dream…I nervously pushed my glasses back into their place on the bridge of my nose as the man behind the desk finally addressed me.

“Well, my dear, you certainly are a talented young with,” he said with a small chuckle as he stared down his long nose at the article before him.

A smile instantly lit up my face (and I have to say, my face was looking spectacular today, I had used my new Baby Blue eye shadow #2 and the effect was quite desirable).

“But,” the man continued, “I’m afraid this just isn’t what we’re looking for, I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps there’s some periodical you would like to apply to, dear? I hear Witch Weekly is looking for new, promising young writers such as you. I’d be happy to write a letter of recommendation.” He gave me a sympathetic smile to accompany this little speech.

I looked at him disbelievingly. “But sir, why?”

“The truth? You just don’t have ‘it’” the man said, and I suddenly noticed the rather large bald spot atop his head. He continued without pausing, in a serious tone as he said matter-of-factly, “Our reporters must not be afraid to dig to the very bottom of our stories, and to pull up some dirt along with it, if you know what I mean. Again I’m sorry, but your article was just too…” he stopped and looked at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to agree.

I slapped my hand on his desk (my fingernails painted Periwinkle Blue #5), and leaned in close to his rather round, ugly face. “With all due respect, sir, I do believe I have ‘it’” I said with a delightful sneer in my voice. “You think I don’t have ‘it’, well I’ve got news for you, I AM ‘it’, and you can write that in your newspaper. I can dig so far down, you won’t believe the grime and muck I come up with. Recall the discovery of the Minister’s secret love triangle with Belinda Beckworth and Celestina Warbeck? Me. Or the Grobblebrook conspiracy? Me. Or maybe more recently, the fact that you’ve lived with your mum for the past five years. Also me.” I draw back, my eyes flashing angrily. “This is my dream, sir, and I’m not giving it up.”

For a moment, the man’s face is unreadable. But suddenly, he throws his head back, and laughs. He beams at me and says, “Welcome, Ms. Skeeter, to the Daily Prophet.”

I suddenly notice that that bald spot really isn’t quite so large. His face is actually quite charming too. Really, the man was quite attractive.

I am tired of this. So few of his House are left here, and more are going to disappear in the coming months. His House suffers the death more than the others, because they have to face the isolation - the distrust - of all the other students at Hogwarts.

"Hey, Nott."

He looks up to see Zabini.

"Has your father called you yet?"

"No."

"I'm going tomorrow. To get my Dark - to get what Draco has now. I wanted to give you this."

Zabini holds out the shiny Prefect's badge. Theodore feels his heart sink. Every Slytherin that had worn this badge since sixth year had broken faith with it. Each one disappeared, passing the rank on to its next unfortunate victim. It is a death sentence - or at least, a forboding omen.

He takes it and sighs, feeling his destiny settle around him. He doesn't want to be branded a follower of a monster. He doesn't want to kill like Malfoy had Dumbledore, or torture like Flint did the Longbottom woman. He wants to come out of this war alive and safe.

He wants to escape to a place where the war didn't exist. He wants to disappear to somewhere where his mother was - she's free of Father now, wherever she is.

Theodore eyes the badge and looks at Zabini's earnest face. The boy thinks that this is a blessing he offers, not a condemnation. He thinks that maybe this will help me fit in with our housemates. Can't he see I don't want to fit in? If I fit in with them, I'll take on their destiny. I don't want it.

He hands it back to Zabini and shuts his eyes, erasing the image of Zabini's incredulous face. Tactically, it is a foolish move, really; he knows that. Accepting this title would make him powerful in the eyes of his fellow Slytherins... But it would damn him, as well.

Peace.

There's no harm in dreaming, is there? No harm in keeping the door open for a little while longer...

Theodore watches Parkinson pin the badge on her robes, and feels a weight - my destiny, perhaps? - lift off his chest.